Kael descended in silence.
The Hollow Sanctum sealed itself behind him—stone folding over stone, light dimming until only the cold whispers of the deep remained. With every step through the cragged tunnels, his breath thickened, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of awareness. Something in the air had changed.
He had touched a memory of the First Code.
And now, they knew.
Elsewhere, Below the Veins of the World…
A ripple crossed the black pool.
No sound. No surface breach. Just movement—as though reality itself had blinked.
The Watchers stirred.
Dozens of them, seated in a broken circle beneath the world. They were not mortal. Not System-born. They were remnants—once Sovereigns, once Devourers, once Truthspeakers—now husks of will bound to silence.
Each wore a different form: a serpent made of symbols, a clockwork giant missing its head, a being of glass whose heartbeat fractured its own body. They had no names—only purposes.
But when the ripple came, they lifted their heads.
The Pool of Inversion glowed with pale light.
"A Nullborn has touched the Hollow Throne," said the One Who Feeds On Versions.
"He walks the first layer of memory," echoed the Shard-Eater.
"He should not exist," hissed the Severed Hymn.
The center of the pool boiled.
Then a voice not spoken—but written across all of them—declared:
"Let him come."
And so they waited.
Kael – Upper Catacomb Pass, 7 Kilometers Below The Sanctum
He emerged into a tunnel unlike the others—natural, unrefined, but pulsing. The walls were living crystal, veins glowing with threads of red and violet. No carvings. No runes. This wasn't built by the System.
It was older.
His skin prickled.
Something was watching him—not just with eyes, but with questions. Every step forward was like walking into a courtroom where the prosecution was unseen but intimately familiar with every sin he'd never committed.
He clenched his fists.
"I know you're there," he said into the silence.
No response.
Only the slow tightening of pressure—like standing in deep water, knowing the surface was far behind.
And then—
A light blinked in the corner of his eye. Not System blue. Not even code-red.
It was black.
[Incoming Inquiry — Origin Signature: Unknown.]
[Do you wish to receive? Y/N]
Kael didn't hesitate. "Yes."
[Inquiry Accepted.]
A line of thought burrowed into him. No voice. No sound. Just understanding.
It asked:
"Why do you climb if you were made to fall?"
Kael exhaled. "Because I wasn't made. I chose."
The presence paused.
Then something smiled. Not kind. Not cruel.
Just interested.
The walls of the tunnel peeled open—not literally, but spatially. He wasn't sure how, only that suddenly he was somewhere else.
A circular chamber. Floating.
And before him, they sat.
Thirteen thrones of different shapes and materials—bone, starlight, broken weapons, frozen time. Most were occupied. The Watchers regarded him as one might examine an insect crawling into the gears of a great machine.
One leaned forward. Its face was a shifting pattern of mirrored text. Words Kael couldn't read.
"You are not the first Nullborn."
Kael stood his ground. "I know."
"But you are the first to survive this long."
Another one, made entirely of rusted metal and stitched wires, whispered, "He holds the Shard."
Another: "He has seen the Throne."
Another: "He must be tested."
"The Hollow Sovereign marked you," said the central one, whose throne was made of absence. "We need to know if it was a mistake."
Kael felt the pressure triple.
"You will descend."
"You will face the Unscripted."
"You will not be guided."
"You will not be saved."
Kael's lips curled. "Then it'll be fair."
The thrones said nothing.
But something behind them moved.
The chamber split open.
A staircase descended into darkness—one not made of stone, but of choices not taken, of paths unwalked.
Kael stepped forward without looking back.
And the Watchers, for the first time in countless aeons, watched a single Nullborn walk willingly into the dark.